


Missed Chances

by inklings



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inklings/pseuds/inklings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was so distant and she was so scared, and perhaps they hadn’t tried hard enough to salvage their marriage." Rosie wonders if it's too late to patch things up with her ex-husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed Chances

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on a bit of a Jack/Phryne writing kick, in case you couldn't tell ;). If anyone has any requests, let me know!

The sight of Jack Robinson out and about—at a sporting event no less, startled Rosie. Even during the happier days of their marriage, her Jack was always reticent when it came to social engagements. He had a tendency to bury himself in work rather than do anything that might be construed as enjoyable.

She still thought of him as _her_ Jack, and perhaps that was why seeing him with _that_ woman chafed Rosie more than she’d expected. Even with Sidney securely at her side—Sidney who was so charming and handsome, who willingly made the rounds with her at society functions in a way that Jack would never agree to—Rosie felt a dull, painful thudding in her chest.

Something exciting happened in the game, but Rosie was too distracted to notice. The crowd surged forward, and Sidney pulled her up by the arm to cheer with the rest of the fans.

Rosie glanced back one more time and saw them, both still sitting—Jack’s hands loosely holding the ends of Miss Fisher’s scarf. Even from this vantage point, she could see that his gaze was full of intent, and that they had both entirely forgotten their surroundings.

She had to look away.

\--------------------

Her mind whirled at the police station. She watched uncomprehendingly as her father walked past in handcuffs, giving him her excuses—nothing but terrible, hollow excuses. Rosie could not even think of Sidney’s involvement in all of this. The pain and shock wrenched through her like a blade.

All she could concentrate on was Jack standing before her, his jaw tight with discomfort and sympathy. He opened his arms and she stepped forward, falling to pieces in his embrace.

He still smelled the same, and it reminded her of the comfort she’d found in their early years of marriage, of jumping into his arms whenever he came home from a long day of work. They had been so young when they wed, and then the war happened and Jack came back a different man. He was so distant and she was so scared, and perhaps they hadn’t tried hard enough to salvage their marriage.

But maybe they could try now.

Jack escorted Rosie home, made her a cup of tea, and held her while she sobbed.

“I cannot bear this alone,” she told him, leaning her head on his shoulder as he patted her hair awkwardly—as though they hadn’t shared those years of intimacy.

“I know, Rosie,” he said, his voice deep and comforting. “I know.”

At nearly midnight, he stood to leave and Rosie grabbed his wrist, whispering fiercely, “Please don’t go, Jack. Stay.”

He checked his watch, clearing his throat. “I can’t,” he said, his eyes averted from hers. “I’m sorry, Rosie, but I can’t stay. I promise I’ll check in on you soon.”

When he kissed her on the top of her head—a chaste, almost brotherly gesture—Rosie knew. Jack wasn’t leaving because of his sense of proprietary, or because he had to go home and sleep. He had somewhere else that he needed to go, even at this late hour. 

She tried very hard not to speculate about where that might be.

\--------------------

Rosie had decided to go to lunch with several friends—the ones who’d remained after the scandalous downfall of both Rosie’s fiancé and father—when _they_ walked in. As they sat down at a small table across the room, she watched, her fork poised over her plate.

The woman leaned forward and said something, the tilt of her head flirtatious, highlighting that long pale neck. Jack’s face broke out into a smile, and he chuckled. His open expression took Rosie’s breath away—she hadn’t seen him so at ease since before the war. She had thought all this time that he was broken, that the man she’d fallen in love with and married was gone forever. And yet he’d waltzed into the very same restaurant like an apparition—taunting her with thoughts of what could have been.

Rosie looked back at her dining companions to see that they were both watching her with a mixture of sympathy and delight. She knew, with a sinking feeling, that gossip would spread as soon as they left the restaurant.

“She is simply the most shameful woman,” said one of her friends, shaking her head. “Did you see that dress? Her entire décolletage is on display!”

“It’s of no consequence,” Rosie said, somehow managing to find her voice. “She and Jack are merely colleagues. And I certainly don’t care if he decides to keep company with… that woman. I just worry about his reputation being sullied, poor Jack.”

She took a sip of tea, determined not to look again, but her friends were all transfixed by Jack and his companion now. One friend brought a hand up to her mouth and murmured, “How shocking!”

Rosie turned her head.

Across the room, Miss Phryne Fisher held out her hand, her smile mischievous. Rosie watched as Jack took Miss Fisher's palm, turned it over gently, and leaned down to gently kiss her exposed wrist. Miss Fisher's lips settled into a soft smile, and she reached across the table to place her other hand against Jack's cheek.  _You're lovely_ , Jack said. After all these years, Rosie could still read his lips when he spoke those words, could still recall the way his voice sounded—low and gravelly—when he wrapped his heavy arm around her bare shoulder in bed, kissing the curve of her neck and saying again and again,  _You're lovely. You're lovely. You're so goddamn lovely._ _  
_

“How hideously inappropriate,” Rosie said, rolling her eyes for appearance's sake, but inside she was drowning.

\--------------------

It took her nearly a month to work up the courage to invite Jack over for tea.

In that time period, she’d attended less social engagements as she sorted through her personal life—breaking off the engagement with Sidney, hiring a well-known solicitor, and even visiting her father once in prison… although it would be some time before she could speak to him with anything but pain and betrayal on her mind.

She had also reflected on her marriage to Jack. It hadn’t been so terrible, had it? And she knew that he’d loved her once. The look on his face—that weary resignation, the wetness in his eyes—when she’d announced that she wanted a divorce had stayed with her. She carried that memory like a talisman, as proof that he cared for her.

Whatever was going on with Miss Fisher—that abominable, flashy woman—would pass. Jack needed someone more stable, someone with less of a tendency to engage in illicit dalliances and dangerous situations.

Jack arrived on time and gave her a small smile he sat down across from her. “How are you, Rosie?” he asked, genuine concern written in his expression.

He looked staid and familiar in her living room, and Rosie had the urge to reach out and place her hand over his. Instead, she launched into the speech she’d prepared.

“I’ve been thinking, Jack,” she said, sitting up straight and trying not to let her hands shake with nervousness. “Perhaps we ended our marriage too quickly. We still care about each other, obviously, and I do believe that we could work things out if we-”

“We had our chance, Rosie,” he cut her off gently, the kindness in his eyes almost unbearable. “But our marriage failed, and for good reason. We must move on. _You_ must move on.”

“But Jack,” she persisted, even as her face burned with humiliation. “I don’t want to move on.”

He sighed and gazed down at his hands, the rigidity of his back a sign to Rosie that he felt guilty—she could alway tell when he felt guilty. But when he finally looked up again, she could also find no regret in his expression.

“I was never the right man for you, Rosie,” he said, and his words cut straight through Rosie, because she was no fool. She could read between the lines and see that he meant that she was never the right woman for him.

The image of him sitting in the restaurant with Miss Fisher, breathing a kiss onto her delicate wrist, came unbidden into Rosie’s mind.

“I think you should go now.” Rosie’s voice sounded strained even to her own ears, and she tried to ignore the pounding in her head and the way that her chest constricted—a panic response, the fear that came with realizing that she’d lost something integral to her very being.

Jack stood up—relief clouding his face—and Rosie walked him to the front door in silence. As she handed him his hat, he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish you every happiness.”

He had said those same words to her once, when she’d announced that she and Sidney were getting married. At the time, it had made her feel triumphant. She was convinced, however selfishly, that it meant that her ex-husband still loved her enough to want to see her happy—even at the expense of his own happiness.

But now Jack’s gaze, even as he looked down at her, was somewhere far away. He was thinking of something—or someone—else, and he was leaving Rosie to stand alone in the past.

“I wish the same for you, Jack,” Rosie said, the aftertaste of the lie bitter on her tongue.

_Fin._

 


End file.
